Lo, what it is for to be reckëless And negligent, and trust on flattery. But ye that holdë this tale a follý, As of a fox, or of a cock or hen, Take the morality thereof, good men. For Saint Paul saith, That all that written is, To our doctríne it written is y-wis. Take the fruit, and let the chaff be still.
Now goodë God, if that it be thy will, As saith my Lord, so make us all good men; And bring us all to thy high bliss. Amen.
“Sir Nunnë’s Priest,” our Hostë said anon, “Y-blessed be thy breech, and every stone; This was a merry tale of Chanticleer. But by my truth, if thou wert seculére, Thou wouldest be a treadëfowl aright; For if thou have couráge as thou hast might, Thee werë need of hennës, as I ween, Yea more than seven timës seventeen. See, whatë brawnës hath this gentle priest, So great a neck, and such a largë breast! He looketh as a sperhawk with his eyen; Him needeth not his colour for to dyen With Brazil, nor with grain of Portugale. But, Sirë, fairë fall you for your tale.” And, after that, he with full merry cheer Said to another, as ye shallë hear. ⋮